Breathe Just breathe
by itsajensenthing
Summary: Something happened to Dean, he's different. Sam knows, but Dean won't talk about it, at least not to Sam anyway. He's not ready to have that conversation yet. But with the sincere help of Maria Bronte', a local campus therapist, Dean is able to admit to himself what happened that night. TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE. DRUG USE. PANIC ATTACK


"Breathe. Just breathe."  
Dean. Sam. Maria Bronte' (new character).  
**Word count**: 3.8k**  
Summary:** Dean's different, he's not alright. Something happened but he's not talking. Sam knows, he knows what happened, and he seeks out professional help for his brother. Reluctantly, Dean opens up to the therapist; relieving the nightmare that effected him deeper than anything else he's ever experienced in his life. Losing his mother, his father, his best friend, his brother... Fighting against Heaven and Hell... Being tortured in Hell... Nothing compared to this. Nothing. TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE!  
**TRIGGER WARNINGS: **Graphic descriptions of rape/forced sex**. Drug use. Mild panic attack. **

**A/N: I really want to emphasis and stress that this is about Dean getting raped. I don't want anyone to read this and get triggered/ Please don't read if this is triggering subject for you. I don't want any of my readers walking into something they'll regret later. Otherwise, I hope this isn't too horrible. **

"And what can I help you with today, Mister Winchester?"

Maria was a well-dressed woman with long, wavy brown hair clipped back behind her ears. She wore a pair of dark grey slacks with a lighter grey vest over an untucked white dress shirt. She sat across from Sam in a comfy red leather arm chair and crossed one leg over the other as she leaned down over her notebook.

Sam was perched on the black leather couch in the Lady's office, with his fingers fiddling nervously with each other. "Well," he gulped. "I just need some advice; I don't really know what I should do."

Maria nodded, "That's why I'm here. What's on your mind?"

"It's my brother," Sam blurted, "He's acting different but he won't talk to me about it."

"Different how? Give me some examples."

"Like," Sam took a deep breath, "I put my hand on his shoulder and he jumps ten feet away. He won't look at his reflection, and this is a guy who used to fix his hair in every reflection he could find. He doesn't drink, he sleeps completely dressed, he doesn't talk as much…" He trailed off and waved his hand out like he trying to decide which of the endless examples he should use next.

Maria re-positioned her arms over the notebook, "Do you have any idea what could have caused his sudden change in behavior?"

"Yeah, uh," Sam scratched his top lip then wiped his hands over his jeans, "A few weeks ago we were at this bar and, uh, he went missing. I found him a little later expect-" Sam lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck.

"Except what?" Maria prompted.

Sam lifted his head and clapped his hands together; trying to find his twelve seconds of insane courage to say the words out loud, "He was lying in the parking lot, unconscious, with his face down and his clothes, uh, well they were all messed up, like, his, uh, his shirt was untucked and his jeans were undone." Maria nodded understandingly, comforting Sam and silently coaxing him to continue. "I think, um, I think he- he was, uh, I think he was raped."

Sam looked up at Maria; his mouth half open from finishing the sentence. His fingers tangled together and then quickly worked to stretch out his hands. He hadn't said the words out loud before, he'd been thinking them but he hadn't found the courage to say them yet. Sam watched as Maria scribbled something down in her notes before returning her attention to Sam.

"Have you tried talking to your brother about what happened that night in the parking lot?" She asked; returning her arms over the notebook.

Sam nodded, "Yeah he just shoots me down." He scratched his head again, "He's trying to pretend like it didn't happen. He's a tough guy, I mean with the way we grew up he's probably the strongest person I've ever met, but he's different, you know? And I know my brother and something awful had to have happened to change him like this, but he won't talk to me about it."

"Well, Sam," Maria softened her voice and leaned even further over the notebook, "If your brother was raped then it's also very possible he was raped by another man and that can be entirely emasculating. Your brother is probably feeling self-conscious, isolated, embarrassed…' She waved her hands, "Victims tend to blame themselves for this kind of thing; they drank too much, they said the wrong thing, they lead their attack on, they wore misleading clothing. The excuses go on and the victim will always find excuses to blame themselves rather than their attacker, " Sam hung his head. "But he does need to talk about it, it's the only way to help him heal."

"I've tried," Sam said; throwing his arms up, "He tells me to leave it alone, that it wasn't what it looked like, that he just passed out because he drank too much. " He shook his head, "My brother has always protected me, my whole life, and now he's hurting and I can't do the same thing for him."

"Don't beat yourself up, Sam. There was nothing you could have done. I know that's a cliché line but it's true. We can't predict these things, but what we can do is help mend the wounds." Maria stood and rested her notebook on her desk across the room, "Why don't you bring your brother to me? I can talk to him; help him understand he doesn't have to blame himself."

Sam looked up and opened his mouth to protest but he stopped, "Shouldn't he talk to a male doctor? No offense but wouldn't it be easier for him to open up to another guy? Sorry, I really don't mean to offend you…"

"It's okay," Maria smiled. "Your logic is right, but men tend to open up easier to women, especially when the issue is one this sensitive. Your brother would feel judged and mocked if he spoke to another man," she waved her hand again.

Sam nodded.

"Dude, where have you been?" Dean asked when Sam finally got back to the motel. "Ever heard of leaving a note? I woke up and you were gone."

Sam dug his hands into his pockets, "Yeah, sorry about that, I went to see someone."

"What? A hooker-someone? That's why we have pay-per-view." Dean snapped and took a seat on the foot of his bed.

Sam stepped forward, "No, uh," he rocked back on his heels then grounded himself, "A therapist-someone."

"A therapist? Why? What's eating at you?" Dean asked, though he threw the topic away with a sarcastic bitter tone.

Sam hesitated. He pushed his shoulders forward then back and glanced around the room before looking to Dean. "Not for me, I went for you." Dean looked back up. "To see if they could help you."

Dean looked from Sam to the wall in front of him and then back again until the words stuck. He then waved a dismissing hand at Sam and slipped his shoes on, "No."

Sam dived forward; holding his hands out, "Dean, just hear me out-"

Dean stood and held his arm out; a warning for Sam to not come any closer, "No, Sam, stop, please." He spread his arms out, "I'm fine! Look at me, I'm okay!"

Sam crossed his arms, "Yeah, I'm looking at you Dean and to tell the truth it's scaring me a little." Dean scoffed and took a few steps back, "She just wants to help."

"Who?" Dean yelled.

"The therapist, her name's Maria Bronte, she's works at the local campus. I went to her to get her advice on what I should do to help you, and I think you should go see her."

Dean took a few steps towards Sam; leaning forward and holding a half closed hand to his chest. "Oh, so not only did you go behind my back to some therapist and spill your guts, but now you think I'm going to voluntarily walk in there and cry for help? No thank you, Sam!" He headed to the bathroom but stopped before he could walk in; instead he leaned against the door frame and crossed his eyes. "I thought I had you to talk about this stuff to," his voice was soft and quiet, like on the verge of a breakdown, "You know that's- that's always been how we… We didn't need therapists or medication because we always had each other to talk to."

"We do," Sam reassured and quietly stood opposite Dean; the closest he'd been able to stand to his brother in weeks without Dean walking away or stopping him before he came any closer. "But you're not using me; you're not letting me in, Dean. I just want to help you but if you don't want me to know what happened that night then I'm not going to force you to talk to me about it, but you have to talk about it. It's the only way you'll heal."

"I can't-" Dean swallowed and refused to look up, "I can't tell you yet."

"I know, " Sam reassured, "and that's okay. You can tell me when you're ready for me to know but Maria want's to help you now and I think you should take advantage of that. " Dean grumbled and shifted his weight, "She's not going to judge you or mock you, she just wants to talk. She wants to listen."

Maria was just about to leave her office when there was a knock on her open door. It took a second for the shy, awkwardly standing man to register within her, but after a few beats Maria was pretty certain she knew who was at her door.

"Dean," she beamed.

Dean took a breath and glance back into the hallway, "I'm sorry, you're getting ready to leave. I shouldn't have come."

"No, no, I'm glad you did," Maria assured him.

"Sam thinks you can help and I told him I was fine and I didn't need help-"

"If that were true, do you think you still would have come?" Maria's question caught Dean off guard. She smiled and stepped a little closer to him, "I just want to talk. Give me half an hour and if you still think there's nothing I can do for you then you're free to go. But I know you didn't drive all the way here to tell me Sam was wrong."

It took a bit more coaxing but Dean eventually stepped into the office and let Maria glide past him to close the door. She softly ushered him deeper into the room until he was standing around the couches. Dean had slipped his hands into his pockets and his began examining every inch of the room.

"Can I get you drink?" Maria asked as she headed to the mini fridge and kitchen appliances on a book shelf beside her desk. "Coffee? Water?"

Dean scratched his head and examined the couch behind his legs, "Uh, water's fine."

Maria returned with a glass of water and handed it to Dean, "Take a seat." Dean obeyed and sat the glass of water on the coffee table in front of him after taking a quick sip. "Have you ever been to a therapist before?" Maria asked lightly; breaking the ice.

"Once," Dean confessed. "It was high school. I accidently started a fire in the locker rooms and the coach thought I was acting out because I was depressed. I got sent to the school counselor and dropped out two days later."

"Why did you drop out?"

Dean pouted his lips and shook his head, "I had better things to do with my time then sit in a classroom and listen to middle aged men tell me how I was going to screw up my life if I didn't get an A plus on the next essay." He chuckled and scratched his head again, "I don't know, I never really fit in at school. Sam did though. God, he was an A plus average student, scored a full scholarship to Stanford to study Law and Politics. Kid is unbelievably smart."

"He is," Maria agreed, although she hadn't been referring to the grades. "It's a two way street, it seems. He speaks highly of you, you speak highly of him."

"Yeah," Dean clapped his hands together and looked down, "I know he's trying to help. I don't know why I'm being so stubborn."

Maria pulled her notebook over her knees and gripped onto the end of it, "He cares about you a lot and he just wants to be there for you."

Dean nodded, "I know, I know. I'm just not ready for him to… I mean I don't even know how to start…" he trailed off.

"Maybe let's start with something a little easier," Maria offered and Dean looked back up, "Tell me about the bar. Why were you there?"

Dean took a breath and rubbed his hands together, "We'd just finished work, Sam and I. It was Saturday so we wanted to celebrate; you know, relax and take a load off. There was this local bar we were told about, said it had the best stake across the state so we parked it there. Had a few drinks, threw darts, hustled some pool. "

"What did you guys talk about?"

Dean shrugged a shoulder, "Crap, mostly. We talked about work, girls, memories. Then I went out to my car and…" Dean trailed off. He hadn't expected himself to ease into the conversation so easily, and as his mind took him back to that night, he could see the silhouette of the thing he wanted to forget. "A-And, uh," he looked down and let out a long sigh. "I'm sure you've got a pretty good idea what happened next."

"I know it's hard," Maria said, "And it's probably the last thing you want to talk about, but talking will help you heal."

"What's talking going to do?" Dean asked skeptically. "It's not going to change anything, or undo what had already been done. So what's the point in making me relive it?"

Calmly, Maria said, "It will help, trust me."

After a minute Dean asked, "How much detail do I have to go into?"

Maria shrugged and shook her head, "That's entirely up to you. As however much detail you want to get into. I'm not keeping notes I'm just here to listen."

There was silence in the room for a few moments. Dean started pitching the sides of his fingers as he stared down the glass of water in front of him. He took a breath and began, "I went out to my car and this-this guy came over. He was talking about my car and he got real, uh, really close. Then he caught me off guard and slammed my head into the car, he moved pretty quick after that, next thing I felt was a sharp sting In the side of my neck and within seconds I couldn't," he gulped, "I couldn't stand on my own anymore." Dean scratched the side of his face and then continued to pinch his fingers, "He put my arm around his shoulders and guided me off to the back of the parking lot where his car was parked in the corner. He moved me around the car and dropped me in the corner. I remember feeling so weak, like I was too drunk or had been throwing up all day. I couldn't move any part of my body more than a couple of inches and then that scared me because… because I realized what he'd done and I knew what was going to happen next."

Dean's heart was racing, his hands were shaking, and he could feel a sweat breaking around his hair line. He reached for the glass of water and took a long gulp before putting it back down. Maria had given Dean her undivided attention; she hadn't opened her book once or asked any questions. She's allowed Dean to feel as though he was just in a room, telling himself about the night, which was exactly what Maria knew he needed. She was merely there to observe his body language and moderate the recall, and to stop him if she thought he was tipping into dangerous territory.

It took him another minute to gain the courage to describe was he was remembering. He took another breath and continued; starring down the glass of water the entire time. "Then he prompted me up onto my knees in front of him. I remember thinking it was going to be okay because the drug was going to knock me out any second and I wouldn't be awake for any of this, I could pretend it never happened," He took another breath, "I was rocking back and forth so he held my shoulder to keep me upright. Then he started… he started stroking himself under his pants and I closed my eyes. I could-" Dean closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, "I could hear him unzipping himself and then- then he held my jaw and open my mouth…" he trailed. He crossed his arms over each other and held onto the opposite shoulder; leaning forward so his elbows dug into his knees. "That didn't go on for very long. Then he pulled out and lifted me onto the hood of his car, face down. He-he pulled, uh, he undid my belt and pulled my jeans down…" The hands on his shoulder crept around the back of his neck, "And then he-he."

Dean unfolded his arms and covered his eyes. His whole body was shaking now and he was taking deep, shaky breaths.

"It's okay," Maria reassured with a soothing, motherly tone. "It's okay."

Dean shook his head, "No, it's not." He removed his hands to reveals his eyes had gone red and puffy. "I didn't tell him to stop." He said; his shaky voice barely above a whisper. "I-I didn't push him off or yell or do anything."

Maria shook her head, "You couldn't. That's why he drugged you; he didn't want you overpowering him like he knew you would." Maria put the notebook into the chair beside her and locked her hands together over her knees, "Dean, you can't blame yourself for this. There was nothing you could have done."

"It gets worse," Dean blurted out louder than he'd spoken before. "After he lifted me over the hood he-he got me ready and he…" He took another gulp of air, "he leaned over me and… pushed himself into me. I remember thinking I just wanted to be unconscious. He could have done whatever he wanted to me just as long as I was unconscious… but I didn't go out. And I can't forget a single detail of what happened no matter how hard I try to forget it just it- it won't go away." He wiped the tears that were building slipping out of his eyes. His chest felt tight, his hands shook even harder, and his head felt like it was on fire. Dean knew he was in a room with four walls and a comfy couch, but he felt like he was back in that parking lot; reliving the nightmare all over again. Instincts told him to run but he couldn't move his legs.

"Dean," Maria said soothingly again. "Take a breath, take your time."

Dean hated how worked up he was getting. And a voice in the back of his mind kept telling him this was weakness, this wasn't how a man would handle the situation, he was choosing to be weak and therefore made him a pathetic cry for help.

Dean shook his head and hung it low; taking In a few minutes to get his breathing under control. "It went on for a few minutes, maybe ten. It hurt, and the whole time he held the back of my neck so I couldn't move. Then he put his head next to mine and at the same time he… he put his hand down the front of my pants and started… he started touching me. And at the same time he was whispering things in my ear and all I could think was: please let this be over." He took another breath to steady himself, "Then he climaxed and for a few moments he just laid on top of me; stroking me, patting my head, whispering to me." Dean lifted his head and locked his hands together over his knees. His face was blank, and instead of looking at the water he now stared at a painting of a landscape that hung on the wall behind Maria's desk. "Then he wrapped his hands around my throat and choked me as hard as he could. All I could think was: Finally, it's over. And I closed my eyes and I let him kill me. I guess he got interrupted though because next thing I remember was waking up to Sam."

After a moment of silence, Maria asked: "And you never spoke about it?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam asked but I fed him some bullshit line about being too drunk and passing out. But he knew." Dean nodded, "The look on his face… he knew what'd happened."

"How are things between you and Sam? He says you won't let him near you."

Dean hung his head and scratched the back of his neck, "I just don't like people so close to me. It's like my personal space bubble increased in size, and I get nervous when anyone comes near me, even Sam. I know he'd never hurt me it's just… I don't know, I guess I'm being pathetic a little bit."

"You're not being pathetic, Dean." Maria said without missing a beat, "You're blaming yourself for what happened because you've convinced yourself it was your own fault. You're forgetting that someone attacked you and took advantage of you and there was no way you could have predicted that was going to happen." Maria scooted forward, "Dean, this is not your fault. You are not to blame here, not for a second." Dean lifted his head in an attempt to stop the tears from falling, "There are people out there who do things that we can't explain. There's no method to their madness, one day they're a normal guy you have a polite conversation with in the grocery store, the next they're attacking people with no warning." Maria shook her head as Dean bowed his, "So no matter what you're telling yourself, believe me when I say this wasn't your fault. You're not pathetic, or weak, or small. And you're going to be okay."

Dean sniffed and looked up at Maria, "How can you tell?"

Maria slid off her chair and sat on the coffee table in front of Dean. He flinched, but before he moved away Maria took his hands in hers and rubbed her thumbs over the broken skin of the fingers Dean had been pinching earlier. Dean tensed but still didn't try to move away.

"Because you're strong, and you won't let this get the better of you. And I know you'll take all the anger and frustration you have towards this and turn it into strength." She looked him in the eyes and continued. Sincerely, she said: "Because you'll get better. You won't feel like this forever. You're too strong to let this get you down for good."

Dean relaxed and looked down at his hands in Maria's. "What do I do now?"

"Breathe." Maria said, and squeezed his hands. "Just breathe."


End file.
